


dios los cría, y ellos se juntan

by starrywrite



Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Non-Linear Narrative, implied/referenced child abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: Of course Cesar stumbles into the garage when Oscar’s hands are covered in blood. Of course.(snapshots of the Diaz brothers’ childhood)





	dios los cría, y ellos se juntan

**Author's Note:**

> (title translates to ‘birds of a feather flock together’)
> 
> for context: these bits and pieces are unrelated to each other, they’re just supposed to be snapshots of what i imagine cesar’s and oscar’s childhood to have been life 
> 
> this is in oscar’s pov and because i have no idea what oscar’s age is supposed to be (so i have no idea what their age gap is), oscar is an unspecified teenage age and cesar is an unspecified child age
> 
> hope u enjoy my first omb fic :’) ps if u wanna have Loving Cesar Diaz™ hours on tumblr with me, you can find me @ ‘creativityprince’ !!!

Of course Cesar stumbles into the garage when Oscar’s hands are covered in blood. Of course.

In hindsight, Oscar really shouldn’t have been stressed about the fact that Cesar isn’t wearing shoes or socks right now -- of course he isn’t, he’s home -- but that’s the first thing that comes to mind when he wanders much too close for comfort. The shirt he’s wearing is probably Oscar’s, it’s big enough that it droops down to his knees and covers his shorts, or lack thereof, and even though he’s the older brother, Oscar has never seen Cesar look so young. Doe eyed and staring at the situation much too grown up for him to have stepped into.

Oscar quickly rips the rubber gloves off, leaving the rest of clean up to the guys, and rushes over to scoop the kid up and leave the room. He prays like God is listening that he didn’t see much of anything. But Cesar saw more than enough, and it was enough to get him curious, and he asks, “What happened?”

Shit. “Someone just made a mess, _mano_ ,” Oscar replies, hoping he’s not too vague to suffice. “Nothing to worry about.”

Cesar’s quiet as he mulls this information over. “Was it Angel?” he asks. “‘Cause he’s always dropping stuff.”

Oscar laughs despite himself. “You’re right about that, _mano_.” A moment later he frowns when he notices Cesar’s thumb has made its way into his mouth, knowing that what he just saw was still fresh on his mind. He tsks. “What’d I say about that?” he gently nudges Cesar’s hand away from his mouth. “You wanna get buck teeth?”

“What’s buck teeth?”

Oscar curls his upper lip in demonstration, then sucks in his bottom lip beneath his front teeth in his best attempt at what buck teeth could look like. He’s sure he looks ridiculous, but it’s enough to get Cesar giggling. Then he makes a funny noise and tickles him, and sure enough, Cesar laughs and laughs. All of the blood is forgotten.

-

Unbeknownst to him, Oscar vowed three promises to Cesar the moment he was born.

One. He would never eat dinner alone.

Two. He would always have someone home to say goodnight to him.

Three. He would get to be a kid for as long as he could.

Three things Oscar never got, but he hopes and prays he’ll be able to give them to his baby brother. He deserves at least that much.

-

“ _Dios_!” Oscar groans, balling his hands up into fists so he doesn’t take Cesar’s stuffed puppy dog and throw it half way across the room. He just got the _crió_ to stop crying. “Why you gotta move around so much?”

“It’s not my fault, it’s your bed’s fault!” Cesar insists. Oscar wants to point out that it was Cesar’s decision to sleep in his bed tonight but he bites his tongue. He’s too tired for this. He lost track of how long he spent trying to convince a wailing Cesar that there was no monster in his room before he was dragged out of his bed and thrown into a monster hunt, where Cesar wasn’t satisfied until Oscar checked every nook and cranny in his bedroom. “But I heard it!” he insisted when Oscar told him -- again -- that there was no monster. And when his lower lip started to tremble -- again -- Oscar asked if he’d feel better if he slept in his bed tonight.

Cesar looked up at him with wet eyelashes and a pout and asked in a small voice, “Can Woofie come too?”

And now here he is, exhausted and irritated with a squirming kid and his stuffed dog right next to him. Cesar had been fidgeting nonstop for far too long and when he was still, he was talking. Oscar has no idea where he has so much energy, how he wasn’t passed out after crying so much. Did he think this was a sleepover? If he did, Oscar just wanted to fast-forward to the sleeping part.

There’s a moment of silence where Oscar thinks Cesar had finally, finally fallen asleep and he’s just about to thank God for that when his voice chirps, “Oscar?”

Oscar grits his teeth. Takes a breath. “What, _mano_?”

“I love you.”

And just like that, all of the irritance he felt towards Cesar had vanished and Osar felt himself soften. Damn this kid. He kisses his forehead and whispers back, “I love you too, _mano_. Now shut up and get some sleep.”

-

Oscar doesn’t even know why he says it, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. “Don’t be stupid.” It’s irrelevant to the already irrelevant argument the two are having and he knows that he isn’t helping things, but he’s still young enough to have a moment of immaturity and idiocy. 

Unfortunately, this had to be that moment.

“You’re ‘tupid!” Cesar shouts back, near tears, bottom lip trembling, but an angry glare on his face where it shouldn’t be. He’s too cute for that much anger, too good for that.

And Oscar doesn’t mean to lose his temper. Because he knows Cesar is just a little kid and nothing is his fault. But when the little _mocoso_ pushes his dinner plate to the floor, making a mess that he’s going to have to clean up, he can’t help but to shout “God damn it!” and smack the table top hard enough to make their glasses shake.

Cesar takes that as an opportunity to jump down from his seat, narrowly avoid the mess he’s made on the floor, and run off to his bedroom. He slams his door shut with all the strength his little body can muster up, but not before screaming “I hate you! I want mami!”

And Oscar knows he’s just a little kid, that he doesn’t mean it, that he’s just throwing a temper tantrum and he’ll get over it in an hour. But he can’t help feel whatever’s left of his heart shatter a bit more.

-

Cesar’s eyebrows knit together as he stutters, “G- g- g,” and Oscar glances over to help him with the word he’s struggling with. “Guardian,” he says and Cesar repeats it. Then Oscar does a double take at the paper in Cesar’s probably sticky hands. To the Parents or Guardians of Cesar Diaz. Shit. “Shit!” he takes the letter and opens it quickly while saying to Cesar, “Don’t repeat that.”

“How come you get to say bad words?” Cesar asks.

“Because I’m older,” Oscar replies, skimming the letter from Cesar’s school. Parent/teacher conferences are beginning. He whispers, “ _Maldita sea_ ,” under his breath. 

Cesar clearly does not care about Oscar’s current dilemma of how the hell he’s going to pose as Cesar’s parent when he was a student at his school at one point, and he says with a pout, “I want to say bad words!”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Yeah? And what _palabrota_ do you know?”

Cesar pauses, clearly thinking of the perfect word from his vocabulary to unveil in this moment. To his credit, he does spend a good few seconds mulling this over, before blurting out “Damn!”

He knows he should tell him not to say that, threaten to wash his mouth out with soap. But Oscar just laughs out loud because isn’t the whole point of being a big brother is to teach your little brother bad words? (It’s not as much fun when your parents aren’t around to scold you both, but right now, it’s pretty fun).

-

“What’chu want for dinner, _mano_?”

“ _Huevos rancheros_.”

Oscar snorts. “What’chu know about _huevos rancheros_?”

“Ruby’s mami made it for us,” Cesar explains. “I liked it.”

Of course she did. Not that he’s jealous. Because that would be ridiculous, and he’s not jealous. “Well, how ‘bout I make that another day?” he tries. “We don’t have any _huevos_.” When Cesar pouts, Oscar can’t help but to smile; he really is a cute little stink. “What do you want instead?”

“ _Uvas_.”

This time, Oscar rolls his eyes. “ _Uvas_ aren’t dinner,” he says, then sighs. “How ‘bout hot dogs?”

“We had hot dogs last night,” Cesar whines.

“Because you like hot dogs!”

“Not today.”

Oscar groans, frustrated. “I can whip up some _sopa de fiedo_ , and if you promise not to make a mess, I’ll let you eat it in the living room while we watch a movie.”

Cesar’s face lights up. “Really?” When Oscar nods, he scampers off to pick out a movie for the two of them to watch and Oscar gets started on dinner. He makes a mental note to ask Geny Martinez her recipe for _huevos rancheros_ while also deciding to let Cesar have the biggest bowl of ice cream for dessert. Not because he’s petty. Because that would be ridiculous, and he’s not.

-

“The…”

“Cat!”

“In the…”

“Hat!”

Oscar muses his hair. “Nice job, _mano_.” He watches as Cesar traces the letters written on the inside of the hardback cover. TO CESAR, WITH LOVE FROM MAMI.

“When’s mami coming home?”

Oscar dreads this conversation more often than he doesn’t, hates the look of disappointment on Cesar’s face when he answers, “I don’t know.” Cesar doesn’t say anything, and Oscar wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he knew the right words in a time like this. Wishes he knew how to comfort and soothe Cesar without making him worry or dwell on the fact that his own mother won’t hang around long enough to see her son learn to read.

“I miss mami,” Cesar says softly, almost inaudibly. Oscar kisses the top of his head and whispers, “I know you do.”

Cesar cranes his neck to look at his older brother. “You won’t leave me too, right?” he asks.

There are only a handful of moments in Oscar’s life where he’s been brought to tears, and right here and now is added to the list. His eyes burn and his throat feels thick as he chokes out, “I’m not going anywhere, _mano_. You can count on that.” And god, he hopes he isn’t lying. Not this time.

-

Oscar doesn’t have many (good) memories involving his father, but he does remember what he told him the first time he gave him a gun to hold, to shoot. “Don’t freeze up, don’t flinch.” He imagines that one day he’ll tell the Cesar the same thing, one day. But damn it, that day is not going to be today.

In one swift motion, Oscar snatches the gun out of Cesar’s tiny hands with one hand and the other grasps the back of Cesar’s shirt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he can’t stop himself from shouting, and when Cesar doesn’t reply, he shakes him by his shirt and asks, “Where did you find that?”

“Under your bed,” he says softly.

He gives Cesar another rough shake. “What the hell did I tell you about going through my stuff?” Cesar whimpers but doesn’t say anything, and Oscar can’t decide what’s worse; seeing his brother holding a gun, or seeing his brother looking at him with eyes full of fear, afraid of him.

He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down, and he lets go of Cesar’s shirt. Immediately, the _crió_ stumbles, as if he’s got sea legs, but latches onto Oscar’s leg. Even as scared of he is of his brother, he still knows he needs him.

“I’m sorry,” Cesar whispers, hiding his face against Oscar’s pant leg. Oscar takes another deep breath and muses his hair with the hand that isn’t still holding the gun.

“S’not your fault,” he murmurs because it isn’t. It really isn’t. But just because it isn’t his fault that this is his life -- their life -- doesn’t change the fact that it what it is.

-

Sometimes, Oscar wonders if his and Cesar’s relationship would be different if their lives had been different. Of course, he can’t imagine loving Cesar any less than he does, can’t imagine a life where Cesar’s birthday isn’t the passcode on everything he owns. But he can’t help but to think about what it would be like if every choice he made, every decision, everything wasn’t ruled by Cesar.

When he was born, it was the best day of Oscar’s life but it still hurt him in a way he’s never felt pain before. Because by the time he became a big brother, he was old enough to know the truth about his father, his mother, their family. He was old enough to know about the Santos, that one day he would be a Santo whether he wanted to or not. He was old enough for the resentment to start creeping into his bones and weighing him down.

And he looked down at his beautiful baby brother, sleeping soundly in his arms, not a care in the world. And he dreaded the day where little Cesar would feel the way he does; the day where his innocence begins down a steady incline with no uphill safety in sight.

He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. If only his parents had felt the same way.

-

Oscar had always grown up being told, _las manos ociosas son los juguetes del diablo_. Idle hands are the toys of the devil. He never understood what it meant until Cesar was old enough to start crawling and started getting into everything. The _crió_ would try to play with anything that wasn’t nailed down or hidden. Anything he set his sights on, he would be moving as fast as his little arms and legs could allow to get to it. Oscar had learned quickly to keep his room tidy just to keep Cesar from getting into his shit. But that didn’t mean the rest of the house was the same way.

Mom was passed out on the couch, not an uncommon occurrence in their house. And down the hall in his room, Oscar could hear Cesar’s little voice calling for his mami, not urgently, but in a way that piques Oscar’s interest. He abandons his schoolwork in favor of checking on his brother, another common occurrence in his life and his heart nearly stops at what sees. Little Cesar had somehow climbed up onto one of the chairs the kitchen and was standing on shaky legs. If the circumstances were different, Oscar would be so proud of his brother for learning how to stand on his own. But right now, seeing his baby brother standing at the kitchen table, one hand braced on the table top, the other gripping a bent spoon in his tiny hand.

“What the hell, _mano_!” Cesar drops the spoon before he, thank the lord, can put it to his mouth (because what else would a little kid think to do with a spoon?) and Oscar is grateful that his attention wasn’t drawn to the lighter. Cesar’s smart enough to figure out how to turn it on, even as a small child. Rushing over and scooping Cesar up in his arms, Oscar loudly scolds him and taps him on his wrist to further prove his point that he’s not to touch things that aren’t his. Cesar pouts but doesn’t cry and Oscar rants about how dangerous it is to play with things that aren’t toys, until their mother emerges from her slumber.

“Oy,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep, eyes barely open as she sits up. “Give me your _hermanito_ and stop acting like his parent.”

Oscar turns away so she doesn’t see him roll his eyes, says in a low voice so she doesn’t hear, “Well, someone has to.”

-

Oscar isn’t entirely sure how he ended up like this -- him lying on his back, Cesar dead asleep on top of him, on the uncomfortable couch with the glow of some cartoon movie illuminating the room. His back is starting to hurt but Cesar is snoring softly, so he refuses to move at risk of waking him up. Cesar’s head is on his chest, his hair falling in his eyes; he really needs a haircut. Oscar has one hand resting on his back, just feeling him breathing while he sleeps, rubbing soothing circles on top of his pajama shirt. He isn’t sure what time it us but all is still and calm and for once, he feels as at peace as Cesar looks. And he knows he’s going to wake up the next day with an aching neck and a stiff back but right now, it’s okay.

They’re okay.

-

Cesar’s tongue pokes between his lips as he concentrates on what he’s drawing, crayon in one hand, Woofie the stuffed dog clutched in the other. Oscar glances over his shoulder “ _¿Qué tal?_ ”

“I made a stegosaurus!” Oscar blinks, a little surprised that Cesar can manage a four syllable word all on his own. “See?” he drops his crayon to hold up his picture of what looks like a green blob with triangles on top of it and a big smile on its face.

“Nice, _mano_ ,” Oscar muses his hair. “How ‘bout you give him a friend?”

Cesar considers that then smiles wide. “Okay!” he picks up a blue crayon while he says, “I’ll draw him a brother. That’s the best friend he could have.”

Oscar tries to ignore the clench in his chest, the tight feeling in his throat, and he kisses the top of Cesar’s head. “That sounds great, _mano_.” He hopes Cesar doesn’t hear the thickness in his voice, the hoarse sound that accompanies what would be tears if he allowed them to fall.

-

It’s a day Oscar will never forget; Cesar picked up a black marker and scribbled something on his face, and before Oscar could reprimand him for it, he beams up at his older brother and gleefully says, “See, _mano_? I’m just like you!”

Oscar isn’t sure whether to be proud or to loathe himself even more for this moment. Isn’t sure if his baby brother becoming him is everything he wanted or everything he should have tried to avoid.


End file.
